Perfect, but not Quite
by Veritas Found
Summary: She wasn't the Doctor's perfect Rose, but she was John Smith's perfect Joan. But even then, as he sat there kissing her, he couldn't keep the dreams of a different kiss from his mind... [For Word 28 in the 15 Minute Fic comm.]


**Title:** "Perfect…but not Quite"

**Author:** Wish Wielder

**Fandom:** Doctor Who

**Pairing / Character Focus:** John Smith (Implied Ten x Rose and John x Joan.)

**Challenge:** 15 Minute Fic

**Theme / Prompt:** Word #28

**Word Count:** 755

**Rating:** K Plus / PG

**Summary:** She wasn't the Doctor's perfect Rose, but she was John Smith's perfect Joan. But even then, as he sat there kissing her, he couldn't keep the dreams of a different kiss from his mind, and again he couldn't stop that lingering thought from creeping in.

**Notes:** Set during "Human Nature" (technically where John snogs Joan – either time could work, if memory serves correct).

**Disclaimer:** "Doctor Who" and all respective properties are © the BBC. Megan D. (Wish Wielder) does not, has never, nor will ever own "Doctor Who".

"_**Perfect…but not Quite"**_

He dreamed about himself, but that wasn't really surprising. What made John Smith's dreams so unusual was…well, in his dreams…he wasn't John Smith.

He was a doctor.

No, sorry – _the_ Doctor.

He was a madman – an adventure, setting off across the stars through different times to stop universal evils. He was a hero of sorts, defending all sorts of people and saving countless lives. But on the same hand, he was a murderer – he had dreamed once of causing an entire planet to burn, and he had woken up screaming – but the screams from his dream had been louder, so much louder.

He dreamed of wonderful, terrible people and things – men made entirely of metal, little cages with plungers that screamed, a short blue man with a bulbous head, men made of clocks – a magical blue box that took him to those people and things. Sometimes he dreamed he had more than one face, but always he had two hearts. The first night he had checked, just to be sure – but when he had touched his hand to his breast there had been no double-beat. He had been surprised at the disappointment he felt at the discovery, but only for a moment – he was human, and humans only had one heart. Right?

There was girl in most of his dreams. He dreamt of meeting her in a basement with strange men trying to attack them; he had grabbed her hand and told her to run. She was in so many of his adventures, from when he had his face and a time when he wore another with big ears, woven in so implicitly with his life that he would have sworn she had always been there. She was with him for so long, and she had told him she would never leave – so many times, always saying "forever". He called her Rose – his perfect Rose, his very own 'girl of his dreams'.

But he knew she didn't always stay. He saw some nights flashes from a terrible battle, involving the metal men and the little cages. He saw her looking at him, and then she had been gone. And he didn't know how, but he had found himself on a beach – and she was there. She was looking at him again, but that smile he saw so often was absent from her face. She would look at him, like he had torn her heart out, and then she would walk away. He would call to her – he would keep calling, always calling – but she kept walking away. And he then he would wake up, and he would be crying – and that's when the space where the Doctor's extra heart should have been would become an aching void in his chest as his heart burned with remorse and regret and such deep apology for his perfect Rose.

But then he would recover, and he would be John Smith again. Just John Smith, a plain, simple school teacher in rural England. It was the year of our Lord 1913, and he was human – one heart, and no crazy plans of adventures wandering through his mind. He wasn't as eloquent – well, really more loquacious – as the Doctor; he could barely get his sentences out clearly most times. He was unsure and hesitant – some would even call him sheepish. He was just a bumbling human, completely devoid of the adventurous jaunts of a crazed Doctor.

Completely devoid of the Doctor's perfect Rose, a girl he wanted so badly to meet but knew he never could.

But Rose belonged to the Doctor, and they both belonged to his dreams – neither were real, so why should he spend his days fantasizing over how life could be with either? Matron – Nurse Red…no, _Joan_ – was real, and she was interested. She had all but asked him to the town dance, and…

She wasn't the Doctor's perfect Rose, but she was John Smith's perfect Joan. Or at least she could be, and didn't a part of him want her as such? Didn't a part of him want to just stop being so bashful and scared all the time – didn't he want to just _live_?

Perhaps that was why he had asked her to the dance. Perhaps.

But even then, as he sat there kissing her and throwing decorum and propriety and all caution to the wind, he couldn't keep the dreams of a different kiss from wisping over his mind, and again he couldn't stop that lingering thought from creeping in.

_She's not Rose._

**A.n.:** _Hee…ok, so I saw the word (sheepish) and my mind screamed "JOHN!". I just saw "Human Nature" last Friday, so yeah…y'know, though, I kinda like John…he's cute, in his own bumbling way. Not as snazzin' as the Doctor (it was weird without the Doc's usual gusto), but he was still cute (I loved how he couldn't talk – that was just so adorable!)._


End file.
